The boy who lived
by xLix
Summary: Harry is the boy who lived. That is what everybody calls him. He hates that name. It reminds him of his mother's sacrifice.  But now he's ready to fulfill the prophecy: He's ready to kill Voldemort, or die trying. ONESHOT


Hey! This is my first ever fanfiction in english. I hope you like it, even if it is a bit dark. It's just a short thing that came to my mind and wouldn't stop bothering me until I' written it down. Please review, that'd be much appreciated. English is not my first language, I hope you don't mind. Feel free to tell me wheere I made mistakes.

The boy who lived – Oneshot

There he was, Harry Potter, the boy who lived and defeated the darkest wizard of all time when he was merely a baby. He was called a hero by many, even if it hadn't been Harry's merit to begin with. It had been the sacrifice of a loving mother, of Lily Potter, that marked the downfall of Lord Voldemort. And he'd never asked for the fame he received. He never wanted the attention he got from every witch or wizard crossing his path. Gladly he would have given all his fame and titles of heroism in exchange for a normal life, for his parents to be alive. But he couldn't. Even if he was a part of a magical world where almost everything seemed possible, death was still final. Something that cannot be changed, no matter what. And he was tired of being Harry Potter. He hated his name, for it meant hope to everyone but only distress to him. Because of his name and his damn scar he never had a normal year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and he never could be just a guy among many. Everywhere he showed up he was recognized. He sometimes wanted to yell at people when they were treating him like a hero. He wanted to cry out that it wasn't his merit that made him special but a terrible incident he wished had never happened. He wanted to tell them that he was just Harry, a boy of seventeen years of age, not even a real adult yet. That there was nothing special about him, because he really didn't feel any special.

But then, there was a prophecy that said he was to be the one to kill him. To destroy Lord Voldemort's reign forever. Kill him or die trying. And that was what he was here for. This night would either mean he triumph over the murderer of his parents or his death. And he loathed himself for wishing to become a murderer as well. If someone had told him 7 years ago that his greatest wish would be to kill somebody he'd never have believed it. But he had to. It was his only chance of a normal life. A normal life without running, without fearing death on all corners, without feeling guilty because of all the people that had died trying to protect him. If the world could be freed from the grasp of the Dark Lord, it would finally end. Forever. And he owed that to all the victims of this war. His parents. Remus Lupin. Sirius Black. Dumbledore. So many good people who had died, and whose names he didn't even know because there were too many of them.

He had destroyed the lives of a lot of families, who were torn apart by torture or betrayals because of the two sides he had created in this conflict. Voldemort's side, or his. That was the choice people had. There was no neutrality. You couldn't trust anyone in those dark times. Not even you own children, you parents or your friends. And what kind of life is that? Not a very happy one, that's for sure. Indeed, it's a very sad one, a painful one. Being betrayed always hurts, but when it is your best friend who's the traitor, the pain almost rips you apart.

He would never have believed that Hermione would betray him. She was his best friend, a girl and a muggleborn. But she did. She sold him out to his worst enemy, knowing he would be killed and the world subdued.

What sort of person did that? You'd expect that person to be cruel, mean and evil. Cunning and sly. But not a brave, loyal friend, a warmhearted and kind girl. But that is what she had been. She had fought for the rights of the houseelves, for their freedom above slavery, she had defended outsiders like Luna Lovegood or Neville Longbottom. She had helped Harry on every occasion possible, had even risked her life uncountable times for him. Only to betray him in the foulest manner? To give him to Voldemort, who'd already tried to kill him once. And she knew that. In fact, everyone knew. He was famous after all just because of that. His scar, given by Voldemort with the Avada Kedavra curse.

Hermione was brilliant and extremely clever, but what had made her take that decision? Was it fear? The Hermione he knew would have died for him, rather than sell him out. But then...people change. War changes people, and it's always for worse. Because war reveals the worst in every person. Harry knew that. He wished to kill Voldemort without guilt or regret. He was absolutely sure he'd happy afterwards. He hated himself, but more than that he hated the Dark Lord.

Voldemort had captured him after Hermione had told him where he'd be hiding. She would know, for she had chosen the place herself.

Deatheaters came and after a fight, they had taken him with them. To their Lord, his ultimate fate.

Voldemort had decided it would be funnier if he could kill Harry Potter in a duel, so that's what he ordered.

Now they were standing face to face.

"Any last words, Potter?", said Tom Riddle in a mocking voice.

Harry did not answer. He didn't have any words, not anymore.

"Stupor" Came from Harry

"Impedimenta!" Voldemort cried.

The two curses found each other and mingled. It looked like the rays of light were playing with each other; it looked almost harmless. It was not. They formed a globe-like bubble, then exploded. The crash was deafening and Harry's ears ringed. The shot of light blinded him for a moment, and without his hearing working properly he didn't realize that Voldemort had shot out another curse.

It hit him right in the stomach, causing him to fall to the ground where he remained. He didn't have the strength to stand up anymore. He was drained and tired, incredibly tired.

Tom stood over him, a grin in his distorted face. "Now you are dead, Potter. Though I will admit, you did cause me some trouble. But it doesn't matter. It's over."

Harry looked him into the eyes. Then he saw her. She was standing right beside Riddle. Hermione.

His best friend. And the traitor. Her expression wasn't happy, but she didn't looked too sad either. She looked determined. She looked at him, coldly.

Riddle saw their exchange and laughed. "She's brilliant. It doesn't matter she's muggleborn, she's worth it. And now she'll see you die. Avada Kedavra!"

Harry closed his eyes in anticipation. He knew he was going to die. Counted the seconds, drew his last breath. After a moment, he realized he was still breathing. He was still alive. He opened his eyes. And he saw her again, Hermione. She laid on the ground, eyes wide open but seeing nothing but darkness. They were lost, she was dead.

He realized that she must've thrown herself into the curse to save him, and this gave him the power to yell: "Avada Kedavra!"

Tom Riddle was still looking incredulously at Hermione's body. She was brilliant, she wouldn't do such a stupid thing! Then his eyes too lost their live, were empty. His boy crumbled to the ground, death.

Harry was shaking. He couldn't believe it was over. And worse, that she was dead and had never betrayed him. That she had actually saved his live. She. Hermione.

"Why would she do that? Why hadn't she said anything! Why!" He cried into the night sky and felt like the little glowing stars were mocking him. How could they glow so brightly, when everything he felt inside was darkness? He was empty. All feeling seemed to have gone from his heart. He couldn't feel anything. He wasn't sad nor happy nor satisfied.

But he lived. Because two people had died for him out of love. The love of a mother, the love of a friend. The best friend possible. He was alive.

Because he was indeed the boy who lived. The boy who lived up to the expectations of every person in the wizarding world. But what about him? That was never important, his life had been decided for him the night Voldemort marked him as an equal. And the only person who had never been blinded by his fame or the story that he was a hero had been her. Hermione. And he had not trusted her. He'd thought she was a traitor. He would never forgive himself for that, because it was his fault she was there now.

A silent tear fell on the white stone at his feet.

Hermione Jean Granger

*19. Septembre 1979  
>† 12. April 1997<p>

The last victim of Lord Voldemort. Brave and loyal, till the very end.

Because there are more important things. Like bravery, or friendship.

Yes, Hermione. There are indeed more important things, Harry thought.

"Thank you for showing me" he said hoarsely.

Then he turned around an walked back to the burrow, to Ginny and Ron, his family.

He could live in peace, for Voldemort was gone and all was well. Except that it wasn't.

She was gone forever.


End file.
